It Was A Night
by FeistyFeist
Summary: Borrowing Darry's truck turned out to be a bad decision. Over the course of a night, chaos reigns and does what it does best. Cause trouble.
1. Gun Meet Ponyboy

OoO

_Today – morning, sometime_

Somewhere, far away, a car alarm is going off. The _Weee-eee weee-eeee_ makes my skull flash bright hot white as a cool breeze brushes over me. A groan passes from my lips. On my side, I curl into a fetal position, willing the sound away. I'm about ready to slam my fist down on my alarm clock when I realize I'm not in my bed. A metal surface of rivulets crunch beneath me.

Rolling over onto my back, I open my eyes, staring up at the sky.

_The sky._

Not a white crack-lined ceiling. The gustery bleary sky of a Tulsa December. Stunned, I sit up, fast, and the blood rushes to my face. Moaning, I cover my face and then look up again. I'm in the bed of an unfamiliar pick-up truck, parked in the middle of a field of dead grass and wheat. A grove of trees line the perimeter of the field, the rush of highway traffic sounds off in the distance. "Oh god." I press a hand to my head. Look again.

"Oh god." My shoes are gone. Brown – what used to be white – socks stare back at me. I wriggle my toes, making the scenario even more real. There's a yellow notepad on my right side, a pen on my left. A bag of skittles and five poker chips near my waist. Birds caw in the distance.

I think back to last night, my mind racing to recall. _I was at the house…borrowed the truck…._ That's about as far as I get as my heart sinks. "Oh, glory…" My voice is loud in the still morning air, the noise making my head hurt again. The truck. More importantly, Darry's truck.

Hands fly to my pockets, panting frantically. "Shit, shit, shit, _shit_!" I don't have the keys. Worse than that, I have no idea where the hell my older brother's truck is. Or where I am. Or what happened.

I spit over the truck's frame. The inside of my mouth tastes like an ashtray and alcohol. Vomit too. I pull myself on my knees, wobbly, but balancing okay. That's when I notice the duct tape wrapped around my throbbing, red-tinged bicep.

I frown. "What the f—"

"Sorry about the handiwork," a voice says as a man suddenly appears. He's dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket. There's a pack of cigarettes in his hands. Approaching the truck, he rests his elbows on the side. "Best we could do last night."

"Last night?"

I can see my reflection in the dark lenses of his sunglasses. My eyes wider than wide. He waits, the corners of his mouth fighting a smirk. And when I see that smile – that smirk – I remember.

"Oh, no."

He hands me a cigarette. "Oh, yeah."

OoO

_Last Night – 5pm_

"Darry?"

He looks at me over his newspaper. "What?"

"Can I borrow the truck?"

Darry shakes the paper out, folds it up once, then twice. He sets it aside. "I don't really want you out driving on the icy streets, Pone. 'Sides," he says, smiling his stoic-Darry-smile, "I have plans tonight."

"Well, be still my heart," Soda says, jumping out of the kitchen, hand pressed against his chest. "You got a date."

"I didn't say it was a date, Sodapop."

"It's a date though, right, Dar?" Squinting, I point at him. "I mean, you're spruced up. Been smelling better than normal lately…"

Laughing, Darry stands and swats me on the top of the head with the folded paper. "You're something else these days. I don't know if it's Two-Bit or what but you're just plain goofy, Ponyboy."

"It's puberty." Sodapop nods my way. "College. The weather and winter break's coopin' you up."

I think about these things. They're both right. Lately, things have just been _good_. The days of feeling cursed, like an outsider, seem far in the past.

Instead, I shrug, "Maybe, maybe not. I don't know." I peer at my older brother. "So?"

"So, what?"

"The keys?"

"Pony, I told you—"

"An hour, Dar. I just gotta run an errand." When he frowns, I say, "When's your date?"

Darry hesitates and then sighs, giving it up. "Seven."

"See? I'll be back with plenty of time to spare." I hold a hand out. "Please?"

His face relents and digging the keys out of his right pocket he throws them my way. I catch them and flash him a smile. "Thanks a lot."

"Jacket. And be home in an hour, Ponyboy. I mean it."

Nodding, I grab up my things – a backpack and a hooded jacket – as Soda starts in on Darry. "Man, I don't know why you try to hide it…we all know you ain't a saint…I mean, if your bedroom walls could talk—"

I bite off a laugh as I exit the house. The cold envelops as I shrug my jacket on. Winter in Tulsa means two things. Cold temperatures and an early, lingering dark.

OoO

_Last Night – 5:49pm_

Errands completed, I stop at a 7/11, fueling up Darry's truck for his evening with his non-existent date. I wonder if my older brother will ever admit he has a life. For some reason, I think he still carries guilt. Although I'm not sure why. I'm in college, Soda's working and happy, all of us finally free of the state. Maybe Darry just doesn't know how to adjust.

The pump clicks off and I shelve the nozzle. Door chimes jingle from somewhere as I screw the gas cap back on. I climb in, slamming my door shut. Another door slams. A guy wearing dark sunglasses sits in the passenger seat of the truck. His stare is unnerving. His hands shake. He looks about to be mid-20s with short, shaggy brown hair and an easygoing grin.

"Hey man, I don't—" The guy pulls out a gun. "Want any trouble…" I finish unnecessarily. I slam my hands against the steering wheel. Just perfect.

The guy waves his .45. "Start it up."

I'm too annoyed to be scared. Years of dealing with the antics of my friends and brothers have hardened me against the bullshit. "Ah, c'mon man, what the hell is this?" Besides, all I can think about is Darry's face getting redder by the second as the seconds tick by because it just as hell figures that something like this would happen.

"I don't remember askin' you to play 20 questions."

I hold my hands up. "Look, I'll drop you anywhere you want. I just can't be late tonight."

"You know…you remind me of a young Holden Caulfield."

I blink, caught off guard. Then, I frown. "I'm older than him, man."

"Just start the damn truck." The guy coughs. "Name's Joe, by the way."

"Are you for real?"

"Bet your ass, kid." He waves the gun. "You know what else is real?" He jams the muzzle against my ribs.

"I don't believe this," I mutter as I stick the keys in the ignition.

OoO

_Last Night – 6:29pm_

_Think. Think of a plan, Ponyboy. Think._

My brain tries to goad me on but all I can think about is Darry. Darry and his date. It sounds like a bad Hardy Boys mystery.

"So what'd you come up with?" Surprised, I glance to my right and see Joe smirking. "You know? A plan of escape?"

"What? No. No—don't talk to me." But I scowl, hating to know my emotions show clear as day. I think about ramming the truck into the next building I pass and making a break for it but I don't think Darry'd like that much.

"I don't know about you kid, but haven't you ever thought about the day when you'd be held at gunpoint?"

I balk. "_When_? Don't you mean _if_?"

Joe shrugs. "To each his own."

"No. No _to each his own_. This is not normal."

"Like you'd know normal. So what's your name? Wait – don't tell me….you look like a Paul. Maybe a Chris."

I shift, pull my wallet out of my back pocket and throw it at him. Raising an eyebrow, he opens it, reads and then chuckles. "I was close."

"So where am I going?"

The guy looks surprised, like maybe he expected me to argue with him, but instead says, "Head south, take a right on Faris Street."

The junkyard.

OoO

_Last Night – 6:48pm_

"I don't believe this."

"Look at it this way, Dar, it's like you have a chauffeur. You know…maybe it'll impress her…"

"Not funny, Sodapop."

"Hell, I ain't laughing either," Steve says. "I had better things to do tonight than drive you all the way the hell out to BFE. No offense, Darrel." I hold a hand up to show I understand. He rolls his eyes. "Although, who's really surprised. With that kid and the shit he pulls."

I smear my hair back, too pissed off to reprimand him for ripping on Ponyboy. I notice Sodapop doesn't launch into it either. This isn't what I wanted for tonight. Crammed like a sardine into Steve's truck with him and Sodapop, as he drives me to my date's house. It was either that or cancel and neither seemed like a good option.

"Take a right," I mutter and Steve turns. "It's the house on the left." Pulling up on the curb, Steve cuts the truck's engine and the three of us sit in the cab, our breath white in the cold air. The tiny house has the porch light on, an available car sitting in the driveway.

"You could have at least kept the engine on," Sodapop gripes.

"I feel like a stalker," Steve says. "Get out, Darrel. Tell her your truck's in the shop. Your shithead of a brother couldn't fix it in time." Soda snorts.

I exit and slam the door shut. Turn back and eye Sodapop. "I don't care what his excuse is – this time, Sodapop, I don't want to hear it."

Soda's biting his lip, abashed, like I've just scolded him. "Yeah, I know. But Dar, I was thinking what if—"

"Darry?"

Rachel's standing on her front porch, arms crossed against her chest. She smiles curiously. "You coming in? Everything all right?"

"Yeah," I say. "It's a long story..." I stalk away, crossing in front of the car, in time to hear Sodapop yell—

"Don't forget to use protection. Remember, no glove, no love!"

OoO

_Last Night – 6:55pm_

We stop to swap vehicles. Joe makes me pile into a pea-green Chevy Impala. A big busted boat of a car, I slide across the front seat, keeping as much distance as I can between myself and him.

"I don't have any money," I say as Joe pulls out of the junkyard, the gun still trained my way. Behind me, we leave Darry's truck sitting; my wallet and the Christmas gifts I had bought this afternoon on the front seat. So much for errands.

"I didn't figure as much judging from the look of your clothes."

"Hey, screw you," I snap, suddenly self-conscious of my hand-me-down hoodie. It used to be Sodapop's; still smells like gasoline.

"But don't worry, I don't want money anyway," Joe says, smirking.

I open my mouth to ask what he wants and then shut it. I don't want to know.

Joe pulls onto Main Street and it's alive with Friday night buzz. My hand twitches to unlock the door and bolt but Joe still has the pistol stuck in my side, using his left hand to steer the wheel.

We pull up to a streetlight and idle next to a bowling alley. It's quiet and awkward but I don't know the etiquette on making petty conversation with kidnappers. A few people cross in front of the car as the signal flashes WALK WALK WALK. One of the passers-by is Two-Bit; a six-pack of beer in his gloved hands, no doubt the beer's meant for my house. Seeing me, he stops in the middle of the crosswalk and mouths, _Ponyboy?_"

Like an idiot, I wave at him.

I just wave.

When the light turns green, Joe peels out and around Two-Bit leaving him standing in the middle of the road.

OoO

_Last Night – 7:15pm_

It's when Joe takes the exit to Pike's Peak that reality sets in and I start to get scared. I watch the yellow dividing lines flash and disappear – and I think of my brothers. I envision the cold, lead barrel brushing my temple and my life exploding into a cloud. Random memories flood me. I think of Johnny. Of Dal. Of my mom and her famous blueberry pies. Of my dad and the loud records he'd play in the garage. Of the great Christmas disaster of '66. Of Two-Bit's dares and Steve's grumpy banter.

Tires crunch gravel. Joe pulls off down a long stretch of dark road. He turns the car off; the headlights go dead, plunging us further into darkness. Around me I can hear crickets chirp; it's hard to believe it's only seven, still early. If it was any normal day I'd be getting home from classes and starting dinner, maybe headed to the track to practice.

Pike's Peak is a deserted lookout on the outskirts of Tulsa. Kids come out here to neck and score smack. Although, in my case it might be the first time someone's ever been shot out in these boonies.

Joe unbuckles his seatbelt, the _ziiing_ of the strap calling me back to the present. "Look," I ramble, pressing back against the door, trying to feel for the lock. "You don't have to do this. I won't say anything I swear. We can just go home and forget this ever happened. I don't think you're in the business of killing—I mean not that you're a hit man or a murderer or anything like that but I know if you have problems—"

Joe raps the muzzle of the gun against my knee. "Shut up."

"Okay."

Squeezing my eyes tight, I see blackness and wait for the pop. When there's nothing I quirk an eye open. Joe looks amused.

"Relax. I ain't gonna shoot you."

"Right."

"Honest. Scout's honor. I could never shoot anyone."

"Well, ain't that a relief." Red flashes before my eyes. "So…based on that…what in the _hell_ am I doing out here? You like kidnapping for kicks or something?"

"I just wanted some company." Joe's voice is wounded.

"Company?" I laugh. "Yeah, I'll tell you where you can get some company. Tulsa Penn." I frown. "I mean, are you _kidding_ me?" I flip the door lock up, grip the handle.

"Not really." Joe shrugs. "It's the last night of my life; I wanted to spend it with someone. And you looked remotely interesting." He lets out a chuckle, waving the gun. "Besides, you don't gotta worry. This thing ain't even loaded."

"This is ridic—wait, _what_?"

_OoO_

_Couldn't resist. A fun idea came to me – inspired by The Hangover and other things – one that doesn't involve tons of angst or Ponyboy whump (shocking I know). I'm not planning this to be a long story…just a short piece but we'll see. Please review; let me know how you like it. It's a new take so I'll see how I do. Maybe it's too silly._

_Pardon typos._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	2. TwoBit Walks Into a Restaurant

OoO

_Last Night – 7:16pm_

I'm out of the truck and ready to run. "Stay away from me," I shout. "Just leave me the hell alone."

"Ponyboy, c'mon…"

"I don't understand any of this," I mutter, rubbing my temple like Darry does when he's fed up with me. I can feel a headache coming on and needing some aspirin soon.

"Do you really understand anything these days? What about that Clockwork Orange book? That was just incomprehensible."

"What?" I hold a hand up, out. "Jesus, man…"

"Okay, okay. Look, I'm sorry, I resorted to less than…appropriate tactics to—"

"Kidnap me? Prod me with a gun?"

"All of those sound so harsh when you put it like that." I cross my arms and glare. Joe sighs. "Get in the truck, Ponyboy. I'll take you home." He moves a few paces, stops and turns back when I don't follow. "I swear. No tricks."

After a reluctant war with myself, I get back in the truck, wondering if this is enough to give me a get-out-of-jail-free card with Darry.

OoO

_Last Night – 7:21pm_

I zip my hoodie up as Joe starts the truck and the drive back into Tulsa. He has the gun stuck under the thigh of his left leg, making me doubt it's unloaded. It's making me nervous.

"I told you before, I ain't gonna shoot you, kid." Sighing, Joe hands me the gun. I hold it limply, confused. He nods. "Go on. Put it away. You're about as nervous as all get out."

Joe sighs again. "You know, you kind of ruined my night, Ponyboy."

"I ruined _your_ night?" With a glare at Joe, I grip the gun with force and punch the glove box open, fixing to shove the weapon away. "Hell, that's the lousiest excuse I've ever h—"

Pill bottles tumble out like an avalanche. Joe stiffens but doesn't say anything. Gingerly, I pick one up, examining the label. Doctor prescribed medication for some hard-to-pronounce drug. I give Joe a look.

"Are these drugs?"

"You might say that."

"Are they illegal?"

"No."

I read the label again and it dawns on me. "Are you sick?"

"I am." The truck bounces, Joe's hands clinging tight to the steering wheel.

_It's the last night of my life; I wanted to spend it with someone remotely interesting._

"Joe…"

"Oh, look who's paying attention now…"

"I wasn't aware there'd be a quiz at the end of this." Annoyed, I throw the bottle at him. It strikes the window, exploding, raining a hail of white pills across the cab of the car. Some tinkle down the dash, disappearing into the motor. If Steve were here he's sock me for that. There's a long silence, then—

"Sorry," I say, immediately feeling shitty. "You probably needed those."

"Not tonight."

We pass the DX; it's dark except for its neon flashing sign. Again, the pit of worry stirs in my gut. I sit up straighter, picking at the sleeve of my jacket. "Joe…earlier you were saying something about your 'last night'…you ain't planning on…?" I let myself linger in case I'm wrong. Hoping I am.

He doesn't say anything, instead continuing to drive. The light from the streetlamps flicker through the windows, highlighting Joe's pensive face. It's thin and a bit pale, but instead of seeming sickly, he looks dangerous. Kind of like Dal did, except with an odd sense of humor tossed into the mix. He looks like Steve McQueen; cool, smug and smart.

Joe slows at a stoplight. "I'll drop you back at the dump."

"No."

"No?"

"Look, let's do your thing. Let's—let's hang out. Whatever you wanted to do tonight…"

My heart's beating fast. As angry as I am at this guy, I can tell he needs someone. People do strange shit when they're desperate and kidnapping someone to spend some time with them definitely qualifies as weird shit. Besides, I'm already in the doghouse with Darry, might as well avoid going home for as long as I can.

Nodding, Joe chuckles into one hand. "You're a weird kid."

"_I__'__m__weird?_"

OoO

_Last Night – 7:49pm_

The restaurant is uncomfortable and stuffy. I loosen my tie, listening to Rachel chatter about her family. While I find myself liking her, I notice she likes to talk. An awful lot.

"…my sister Margie thinks San Francisco has the right idea and what do I say to that? It's pure chaos over there. I can't believe the police let them act like that. I like it here in Tulsa…easy and simple. What do you think, Darrel? I simply can't understand how…"

I reach for my beer, taking a sip as the waiter steps up. "Excuse me, Mr. Curtis? There's someone here for you. A Keith Mathews?"

I choke, catching myself in time to keep the beer from spilling down the front of my shirt. "What? Where?" I twist in my chair and over my shoulder Two-Bit's standing at the hostess stand, chatting up the young girl working it. He's in a jacket wearing a furry aviator cap.

Rachel's frowning. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," I mutter. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm sorry…I'll only be a minute." I pull the napkin off my lap and drop it on my chair.

OoO

_Last Night – 7:52pm_

"Just one night of doing whatever I want."

"You wanted to hold someone at gun point? I mean, I guess I can see how that would be a life's ambition but I don't really get that attraction."

Joe rolls his eyes but continues his chatter. "I'm thinking something like drag racing or maybe even running with the bulls, although that would require a plane and whole a lotta dough. C'mon, kid, where's your sense of adventure? Haven't you ever just wanted to see where the night takes you? " At my stare, Joe places a hand across his heart. "I promise not to do anything too illegal besides, you can always blame it on me in the end since—"

I hold a hand out, silencing him. "Okay, okay, fine. But I wanna know, what's wrong with you?"

"Stick with me and I'll tell you."

"Joe—"

"Poker," Joe says. "One game of poker – the finest Texas Hold 'Em we can find— a drink or two and I'll tell ya. Then, if you're still not having fun, after I've exhausted all my best efforts, I'll drive your pansy-ass home."

"Poker? That's the best you can do?"

"Why? You got a better idea?"

The grin creeps up my face. "Not yet."

Joe smirks. "Okay, so…" he sticks a hand under his seat and pulls out a bottle of Jack. "Drink on it?"

The look on his face makes me agree. I shouldn't but I do.

I take a long swig, grimacing. Finished, I hand him the bottle and he drinks. I laugh to myself. I'm sitting in a truck with a suicidal stranger drinking Jack Daniels in the dead of winter.

Yeah, I've been in worse positions.

OoO

_Last Night – 7:52pm_

"What's goin on, _Keith_?" I spin him around and shove him back near the coat rack to avoid the gawking stares of other guests.

"Hey, hey, we're in a nice restaurant, figured I'd use my good name." Two-Bit peers around me, whistling. "This is a pretty fancy place, Dar. I see you put on your best pants for it."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I stare at him. "Two-Bit. What're you doing here? You got about a minute to spit it out."

"Right-o, Darry. I see you're in a hurry and I'll get to the point. So…I was strolling down Main Street tonight, not more than an hour or so ago, and having picked up a case of PBR at one of our finest convenience stores – can you believe they took my beer from me when I walked in this joint…"

While Two-Bit rattles, I think about all the reasons he'd possibly be here. While Two-Bit may be stupid, he's not an inconsiderate ass, which leads me to one conclusion. I stop him. "Is everything okay with the boys?"

"Hell, I was gonna ask you that, Darry." Any smile that was on Two-Bit's face is now gone. "I saw Ponyboy earlier and it was weird—"

"Sir?" The waiter tugs my sleeve. "Your date wanted me to ask you if you'd like dessert." He gives me a pointed look.

"Yes, I—Jesus Ch—" I glance at Two-Bit, caught between him and the waiter. I point at him. "I'll be home in an hour. I want to talk to you there."

"Sure, Dar."

The hostess hands Two-Bit his confiscated six-pack of PBR. "Your beer, sir."

OoO

_Last Night – 8:30pm_

I place both palms on the dash, staring at the shoddy unmarked building in front of me. "We shouldn't be here."

Joe hops out of the truck, walks in front of it and opens my door. "Why not? Afraid of slumming?"

I hook a finger toward the dark, where a lone blown out streetlight stands. "This ain't slumming, I'm a greaser, believe me, I know slumming. This is sleaze."

"It's all a front," Joe says as I slink out, resigned. "Finest poker in town. You gotta know the password to get in." He strides away, crossing the railroad tracks and I hurry after him, flipping my collar up against the cold night air.

"So what is it?"

"What's what?"

"The password?"

"How the hell should I know?"

OoO

_Last Night – 8:55pm_

"Lover boy finally made it home," Steve drawls.

"Where is he?" I ask Sodapop, shutting the front door and stepping inside.

Soda, sitting on the couch with Steve, shakes his head. "I ain't got the slightest."

"He's not back yet?"

Soda's eyes move. Two-Bit comes out of the bathroom wearing an old shower cap. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Dar."

"What is that?" Steve asks.

"What?" Two-Bit pats the plastic cap. "I got bored."

"You got bored? You go into the bathroom to accomplish a task, Two-Bit. How can you get bored?"

"I just get bored, Steve. I shouldn't have to explain that to the likes of you."

"Two-Bit," I snap. "What the hell's goin on?"

OoO

_Last Night – 9:02pm_

"And you didn't know this guy?" I scratch the description of the car on a notepad: _Impala, __pea-green, __broken __headlight._

"No. Never seen 'im before."

"But Ponyboy looked okay?" Soda asks.

"Yeah. I think so." Two-Bit pauses. "He waved at me and that was about it. I mean, how am I supposed to know? The kid always looks slightly panicky."

Soda sighs, his face dark. "Two-Bit, I'll strangle you before Darry gets to it." Soda meets my eyes. "Pone promised you, Dar. He wouldn't just _not_ come home."

Brow knotting together, I stuff my hands in my pockets, trying to stamp down my nerves. "So, where is he then?"

"More importantly," Steve says, speaking up. "Just where exactly is your truck?"

Two-Bit removes the shower cap from his head as Sodapop shoots Steve the bird.

OoO

_Last Night – 9:08pm_

Joe gets us in.

I don't know how he does it but after being led downstairs by a heavy-lidded woman with a gruff bark, we're sitting around a poker table with four other guys. One of them looks vaguely familiar but I can't recall from where. He keeps squinting at me from behind a pair of round glasses. The place reminds me of some sort of Prohibition-era lounge: dark, smoky and the kind of joint where illicit activities take place.

Soda's warned me about this place. "The old shed down by the railroad tracks," is how he'd often describe it. "Darry talks about it, Two-Bit jokes," he had said, "but I've actually been in there. For real, Pone. And don't you _ever_ let me catch you there. They're serious about their poker. They'll kill for it."

"Soda, you know I don't play poker," had been my excuse. Even now, 18, no longer the 15-year-old he had warned, I still feel guilty.

"You any good at this?" Joe asks me lowly.

I shrug. "I've had my moments."

Joe chuckles and shuts up as the dealer starts sending out cards. One card, two card, three card—that's when I see it. The pair of aces up the sleeve of Joe's leather jacket.

I fan my cards out in my cupped palm and keep my jaw tight. Real tight.

OoO

_Thank you, thank you for all the reviews and comments. I truly appreciate all the feedback._

_That said, please keep reading and reviewing._

_As always, pardon typos._

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	3. Phone Tag, You're It

Phone Tag, You're It

_Last Night – 9:15pm_

Soda's giving me a look. _That_ look. The look he continually gives me whenever Ponyboy and I fight. The look he gave me when I was 16 and told him he couldn't play football with me and my buddies. The look he used to wear, two years ago, as he read and reread Sandy's letter, until it crumbled apart in his hands.

I dump another load of clothes into the washer. Steve and Two-Bit are outside on the porch smoking. I slam the lid of the washing machine and Soda hops of the couch. We face each other like it's a standoff.

"Darry."

"Sodapop."

"Should we call the cops?"

"Yeah, I think we better."

Soda moves to the phone and as his hand touches the receiver it rings. He freezes and turns wide brown eyes my way. I nod. "Answer it."

Soda waits until it rings again and then picks up. "Ponyboy?" He stands very still.

OoO

_Last Night – 9:22pm_

"Joe."

"What?"

"What're those?"

"What're what?" Joe stares, confused, and then breaks into a smile. "Oh, _those_. Don't worry. Ain't planning to use 'em."

"You better not," I hiss behind my fan of cards, keeping my face emotionless. "I'm not lookin' to get the shit kicked out of me tonight."

"I play it smart, kid," Joe says. "You'll see. Besides, you may get the shit kicked out of you, but it ain't gonna be here."

OoO

_Last Night – 9:32pm_

"Darrell Curtis?" the man asks, greeting us. Soda's at my heels, Two-Bit and Steve stay in the idling truck.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Chuck Baker, Tulsa PD." We shake gloved hands. "This your truck?" When I nod he continues. "The owner of the junkyard called us earlier tonight. Apparently, the truck's been here since about seven this evening. He saw it pull in with two passengers. We were just going to tow it to the impound lot when we were able to make an ID."

Baker hands me a brown paper bag and the keys to my truck. "We found some of your brother's personal effects in the vehicle." He opens a small notepad. "His wallet, backpack and some other items."

"What about Ponyboy?" Soda says. His breath shakes. "Where's he?"

"Two-Bit," I bark, causing my friend to roll down the window. "What time did you see Ponyboy?"

Two-Bit frowns, thinking hard. Says, "It must have been just at seven…I remember because the streetlights don't come on until then and they flickered on when I was crossing the street."

I turn back to Baker. "What time did the call come in?"

"6:58."

It's close; two minutes but I let myself breathe again, the paper bag crinkles in my closed fist. Soda's pale but some color's returned to his face. "Goddamn right," he says.

OoO

_Last Night – 9:45pm_

It _had_ been going smoothly.

All bets were on, Joe raising and winning without any appearance of cheating. Too nervous to play, I folded the first few hands, then with a little help from a beer, eventually got into the swing of things. And hell if Joe wasn't a good player; so good, I decided I needed to introduce him to Sodapop and Steve to show them a few pointers.

Then as we get ready to leave, Joe gives up the cards, so to speak.

We both stand; I shake hands with the four other players, pick up some poker chips and start shuffling them between my hands, thinking _holy hell, we really got away with it_…

Joe reaches over the table, hand outstretched and the two aces slide out of his sleeve. They land in the lap of the dealer. Instantly, I feel my face go red as all eyes turn on us. An awkward silence lingers and then the dealer—

"You dirty fuckin cheater!"

"Now, now fellas…" Joe holds up his hands. "If it helps, I didn't even have to use those cards tonight. I didn't really need to with the shitty way you were play—"

The dealer takes a swing at Joe. But Joe's fast, ducking and then straightening up. He grabs the hood on my jacket, tugging me like I'm attached to a noose. "Let's go."

We haul ass up the stairs and out the front door, the cheated players at our heels. "God damn it, Joe," I swear at him as we run across the railroad tracks. The wind is cold and I suck in a breath. "They're gonna kill us," I say, remembering Soda's words. "They're gonna catch us and kill us and tie our bodies to these train tracks."

"There will be no murder tonight, Ponyboy…"

"Yeah, I'll believe that when we're halfway across town…"

"And what're you gonna do with those?" Joe yells back. "Hold 'em off with pieces of plastic? Maybe throw 'em like tiny Frisbees?"I glance down at my hands and see that I'm still holding the poker chips. I swear at him again and shove the chips into the pocket of my jacket.

We skitter across gravel as we reach the car. I dare a quick glance back. The four guys look angry enough to kill, rushing at us in the dark night, fists clenched. And remembering Sodapop's warning and not doubting it, I dart in front of the car, whip the passenger door open and without thinking, in some sort of unconscious act, punch open the glove box and grab the gun.

I hold it up, muzzle to the sky. And that's all I need to do.

Our pursuers slide to a stop. The dealer scowls and flicks the blade he had been holding closed. One of the other men – the one who's been eyeballing me all night – cocks his head. The gun's cool in my palm. I don't like holding it but try to keep a calm grip. Joe gives me an impressed wink and then saunters forward.

I nearly groan as Joe starts goading them.

"Well, well, well, looks like playtime is over, boys."

"I oughta gut you right now," the dealer barks.

"Then why don't you?" Joe presses a shocked hand to his heart. "Oh, that's riiiight, could it be because my young friend here is carrying the finest piece in the Wild West?"

"Midwest," I speak up.

"Midwest. Right again. Besides," Joe says, "I wasn't cheating. Those were my good luck aces, handy only in a jam, like a lucky rabbit's foot or a four leaf clover, so you gentlemen have no recourse." Joe walks a few steps to the truck, turns and looks back at the foursome. "I do offer you one condolence, however…" He holds up his middle finger.

I pound my fist on the top of the car. "Man, can we just cut the shit and get the hell outta here?"

"Yup," Joe says. He climbs into the truck, starts the engine. I'm about to as well when—

"Hey!" my eyeballer speaks up. "Hey kid!" I pop my head out, crawl out of the seat to stare at him. "Kid, ain't you Darry Curtis's little brother?"

This fells me, the gun drooping in my grasp. That's when I realize I _do_ know the guy. It's one of Darry's old workout buddies from high school: Hal Boyle. The blood drains from my face.

"Aw, shit." I bite my lip; stand on tiptoes to get a better look at Boyle over the top of the car. "You ain't gonna tell him about this are you?"

OoO

_Last Night – 10:04pm_

"He's already shopping for Christmas?" Soda asks, cradling the pocket knife from one of the bags Officer Baker had handed over. He shows me. "You think this is mine?"

"I don't know, Soda…"

"Yeah, well if it is, I feel bad for you, Dar. He got you socks…" The bag rustles.

I smear my face and steer the truck, following Steve back to the house. We pass a McDonald's, the drive-through filled to the brim.

OoO

_Last Night – 10:05pm_

"I hate you so much right now." I cover my eyes.

"Why are you pissed?" Joe says. "I'm the one who should be mad. I lost my best aces."

"Screw your aces." I raise my face, the flicker of the McDonald's arches, golden across the windshield as we drive back into the center of Tulsa. "My brother's gonna kill me."

"If he hears."

"Oh, he'll hear. He hears everything."

"What, is he some kind of superhero?" Joe laughs.

I think about it and feel myself grin. "Something like that."

"Settle down, Ponyboy." Joe glances my way, taking his eyes off the road. "We're gonna go have a drink. We're gonna play a little pool…"

I sit up straight as the truck swerves slightly. He's still looking at me. "Joe…"

"Chase a little skirt."

Oncoming headlights are bright.

I buckle my seatbelt. "Joe…"

"Tonight's gonna be alright…"

"_Joe!"_

OoO

_Last Night – 10:07pm_

"This just doesn't make sense," Soda murmurs, turning his face to the window. "We know he's out there…now where he is…"

"Is a different story altogether, yeah, I know," I say, nodding.

"I just hope he's okay."

"Believe me, Sodapop, you have no id—Jesus!" Up ahead, Steve's truck narrowly misses getting sideswiped by an old busted up car. The horn sounds loud and long.

OoO

_Last Night – 10:08pm_

Reaching out, I grip the wheel, jerking the car back onto our side of the road. The blur of the oncoming truck blasts its horn; the dark figure driving gives me the second bird of the night.

I cock my head at the familiar truck following the one we nearly creamed, tuning out Joe's frustrated thanks.

OoO

_Last Night – 10:08pm_

Soda gives me a shocked look.

I feel like I've seen a ghost and twist around in my seat to glance behind. Soda grabs the wheel to drive for me. I catch the taillights of a green Impala winking as it turns the corner. "Was that—?"

"No…" Soda shakes his head. "It couldn't have been…"

OoO

_Last Night – 10:20pm_

The crack of the balls is loud. Pool is the hot item tonight at the Lazy Cowpoke Saloon. A hokey name and an even hokier place. I don't know about Joe but for my last night on earth I'd definitely opt for something more fun. Like the library. But, as I remind myself, this isn't his last night; not if I have anything to do with it.

Joe pulls up a stool next to me at the bar. Orders some beers. It seems as good a time as any. I bite my lip and go for it.

"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong with you or what? I figure I kind of earned it after saving your ass."

"That was pretty noble of you," Joe says, cocking a brow. "Pulling out the big guns in the heat of the moment. I mean, hell, you might want to start thinking about trying out for the army…maybe a sniper position…"

"Shut up," I snap, rubbing the back of my hair, now feeling embarrassed. "I don't why I did it. I don't even like to hunt."

"Instinct. Pure, raw instinct."

I roll my eyes. "You gonna tell me or what, Joe?" He doesn't reply and nervously, I rub my hands on my jeans. "Sorry. Look, if you don't want to tell me that's fine, I was j—"

"Stomach cancer." He catches my wince and says, "Yep, eaten away from the inside. Classy way to go."

"But…but you're so young…" My brain flashes to Dallas and Johnny. If I hadn't found the pills I would never have guessed. I reach for my beer and gulp it down.

"Age don't have nothin to do with death being kind."

"No shit." I cough into my fist, then look at him. "I'm sorry, man."

"So on account of that late-breaking newsflash, wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't I what?"

Joe slices two fingers across his next. "Opt out? I mean, who wants to wait around for it to happen? I'd rather just…Do it myself."

"Don't talk like that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Knock it off," I say, sliding off the bar stool to grab a pool stick. "Remember what you said? 'There will be no murder tonight'."

Joe rewards me with a bright grin. "Hell kid, you _were_ listening."

"Never said I wasn't." I hand him the stick.

OoO

_Last Night – 10:45pm_

"I got it," I say as the phone rings for the second time tonight and Sodapop and Two-Bit practically leap off the couch. I'm in my recliner, phone receiver resting on my chest. Steve turns the TV down.

"Hello?"

"Darry Curtis?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to let you know your brother is a goddamn menace. And a cheater no less."

"Who the hell is this?" I pull my recliner into its sitting position. Soda stands in front of me, arms crossed against his chest.

"It's Hal Boyle." He sounds annoyed. "Remember we—"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," I say, wanting him to get to the point. "You saw Ponyboy? Where was he?"

"Yeah, I saw him. He was down at the tracks tonight, near the freight station, palling around with some guy I've never seen before…" I shut my eyes and Hal continues. "At first I thought it was that middle brother of yours since I've seen him down here before, but then I—"

Impatient, I cut him off again. "So what'd he do?"

"I'll tell ya what he did. Played some poker, screwed us over…we nearly caught that little bastard but—"

"Boyle," I growl, seeing red. "If you're calling to tell me you messed my brother up, I'm warning you—"

"_Me_? He's the one who pulled a gun on us."

"_What_?"

"Yeah, you heard that right. Your little brother's packin' heat."

"Bullshit."

"Call it bullshit if you want, Curtis, but whoever that was sure had one hell of a mouth on him."

My stomach drops into my toes. "Yeah, that sounds like Ponyboy," I groan, pressing the phone receiver tighter against my ear, ready to get as much information as I can so I can hunt my brother down and bring him home.

OoO

_Last Night – 11:11pm_

In between games of pool, Joe's been telling me his story. Born in Chicago, he moved out here with his mother and younger sister in eighth grade. Worked on a ranch until the horse kicked him in the gut. That little trip to the hospital let to something else unexpected.

Come to find out he's dying and dying's a lonely business.

"Hell," he says, lining up a shot, "Kidnapping a stranger seemed less judgmental. I mean, do you ever find yourself telling random folks stuff you'd never tell your closest friends? That's what I wanted tonight. No obligations. No judgments"

I think of the theme I wrote for Mr. Syme, things I'd never flat-out tell to Darry or Sodapop and find myself agreeing with him. It makes sense. And I find myself liking Joe.

"Believe it or not, I know what you mean." He gives me a look and then steps back to let a group of people pass by.

I swallow the last of my beer, feeling numb and fuzzy. The warmth of the bar is a welcome relief from the winter weather outside. The door blows open and a group of girls storm inside. One of them is speaking loudly and gesticulating angrily. She's cute, with a pert nose and a face full of brown bangs. I eye her and—

"Shucks, you wanna play a game of billiards?"

Frowning, I look Joe's way. My eyes narrow as Joe offers a pool stick to a real greasy looking muscle-bound hulk. The guy accepts and I'm sliding off the barstool fast.

I grab Joe's pool cue. "No. You're not doing this again."

"Doing what?"

"C'mon, Joe. _Billiards_? Really?" I lower my voice. "You're hustling these guys. I think doing it once tonight is pressing our luck enough."

The girls laugh loud in the corner. The brunette is lighting up. "And I had to drop _him_ off. He didn't even try to kiss me goodnight...something about being in a hurry…" The others shake their heads; a blonde girl swears her disgust. I try to listen but Joe's grinning at me and I turn my attention to him.

"I never hustled," Joe says. "I won, fair and square, without cheating." He tugs the pool cue out of my grasp. "I've always wanted to do this."

"I can see that. And I can see them, and I don't think it's such a hot idea."

"It'll be fine, kid." I scowl as he walks toward the guys, giving them a big cheesy wave.

OoO

_Happy Thanksgiving weekend._

_Please pardon typos._

_Many thanks for the reads and reviews. _

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	4. Pie in the Sky

Pie in the Sky

OoO

_Last__Night__ – __11:30pm_

Judging by the conversation these girls are having, I can say for certain the brunette is – _was_ – Darry's date. Small world. And speaking of Darry…

Swallowing the last of my beer – my third of the night – I sigh and slide off of my bar stool, bored of watching Joe act like the village idiot and hustle more idiots. If I hear _shucks_ one more time…

I find some change in my pocket and make a break for the pay phone, figuring I owe my brothers a phone call and some semblance of an explanation. I drop in the coins and punch my number. The jukebox plays a Grateful Dead song.

He answers before the end of my line even has time to ring. "Hey, Darry," I say.

"Jesus, Ponyboy…" There's a long exhale. Then in a curt voice – harried yet no-nonsense – he says, "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

"I'm at that hokey saloon down on Stockton but listen, Dar—"

Before I can finish my sentence someone yells, "Incoming!" and reflexively, I duck, dropping the phone. Glass smashes the wall where I had just been standing. It shatters above my head as I bring both arms up to shield myself.

Straightening up, I look over my shoulder to see Joe giving me a thumbs-up.

"Like a pro!" he screams.

OoO

_Last__Night__ – __11:30pm_

"Jesus, Ponyboy…" I let out a long breath, relieved to hear his voice. Soda steps in from the porch, a cigarette between his lips. I nod and Soda's eyes light up. I go back to the phone. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

"I'm at that hokey saloon down on Stockton but listen, Dar—"

Annoyed, I'm about ready to launch into a thousand questions but suddenly there's the sound of a yell, glass shattering and the thud of the phone. Then, empty silence.

"Hello? Ponyboy? You there?" I give the phone a quick shake. It just buzzes in my ear. "God damn it," I swear, slamming the receiver down.

"Is he okay?" Soda asks, finishing his smoke and coming inside. Behind him the shadows of Steve and Two-Bit lurk.

"I don't know." I slip on a jacket. "I do know where he is though," I tell him as he frowns. I snatch the keys to my truck and move to the door. "C'mon."

OoO

_Last__Night__ – __11:39pm_

"You're holding it wrong!"

"How in the hell am I supposed to hold it, Joe?"

"You swing like a girl!"

"Do not!"

"Duck!" Joe shouts at me over the commotion as he dodges the muscle-bound hulk. The big, greasy guy Joe was trying to hustle figured out his scam. And rightly so, he and his friends are pissed. A guy with a crew cut takes a swing at me and I drop the beer bottle I had been holding.

Joe pops the hulk a quick fast one in the jaw. I hear the crack over the music. "Watch it – You're gonna get hit, kid!"

"Shit!" I jump away right before the whoosh of the pool cue grazes the front of my shirt. Feeling cocky, I turn to Joe, raise an eyebrow. "Told you I co—_oomph._"

The pool cue from one of the guy's Joe has hustled makes a full rotation and connects with my back. Luckily the light buzz I have going on cuts the pain, but not by much. I go down hard. "Oh goooood," I tell the ceiling as someone grabs my ankles and begins hauling me across the peanut-littered floor. "Because this night couldn't get any better…"

Beer splashes everywhere, the bartender hollering that he's gonna call the cops if we don't stop, and suddenly I'm pulled back onto my feet. Crew cut lifts me up, off my toes and tosses me across the room.

I slam onto a table, sending beers and martinis flying. Alcohol soaks my jacket. Darry's date stares at me, all four girls huddled together against the wall, shrieking. I push back, off the table. "Hi," I say to her. "Rachel, right?"

She nods.

Coolly, I brush glass of my jacket. "You go on a date tonight with a big, brawny guy? Darry Curtis?"

"Yes," she squeaks, looking terrified.

"That's my brother," I blather. "It's my fault he couldn't drive – I took his truck and while I'm always causing trouble, he's a really great guy and I'd hate it if you based your date on this one—"

Rachel's eyes move to something behind me and this time I duck and dodge. Crew Cut's fist narrowly misses my ear and I pop back up slamming a fist into the guy's nose. Blood springs from his face as he falls backwards onto the pool table. I suck in a breath, wincing.

Joe's running at me from across the bar, the hulk on his heels, waving a pool cue. I turn back to Rachel. "So like I said—"

"Now's not the time to play grab-ass, kid!" Joe yells, wrapping an arm around my waist and propelling me forward fast. We bolt out the back door of the bar. "You knock that guy out?" Joe gasps as he shoves me in the direction of our ride. He fumbles with keys.

"Yeah," I gulp, ripping the passenger door open and barreling in.

"Nicely done," he says, gunning the engine; I barely have my door shut before we peel out of the parking lot, the smell of rubber burning the air. I allow myself a smile of satisfaction as I see the hulking guy in my rearview mirror running after the—

My smile fades. I think about it and look around. It didn't even register at the time. A dashboard Jesus stares back at me, wobbling as we speed away. "Who's truck is this?"

Joe says nothing. I grip the door handle. "You stole his truck, man?" I yell at Joe. "You stole his _goddamned_ truck?"

"Yeah," Joe says, clucking his tongue. "And it's not even a diesel."

OoO

_Last Night – 11:56pm_

"Holy god, what did he do?" Steve mutters as we pull up outside the Lazy Cowpoke Saloon. A cop car with its red and blue flashing lights sits in the parking lot. Scatters of people huddle in groups, watching the scene.

Soda elbows Steve in the side, shooting him a glare before he bolts from the truck. "What happened?" he's asking a cluster of girls when Steve, Two-Bit and I reach him. They shoot him appreciative glances and all start talking at once. Soda holds up his hands, trying to get a word in. "Did you see—what about—a kid, his name—"

"Let me handle this," Two-Bit says, swiping a hand through his greasy hair. "_Laaaadies_…" Seeing Two-Bit, all the girls fall silent. Steve snorts. Two-Bit turns back to us. "Aaaand that's how we do it."

I'm about ready to step in to get some answers when there's a _psssst_ from the left. Rachel's standing in another cluster; I feel my mouth drop open. She beckons me over.

"Late night drinking?"

She blushes and flips the collar up on her jacket. "Maybe." Then her eyes narrow. "I saw your little brother tonight, Darrel."

OoO

_Today – 12:00am_

"Food sounds good."

"Food?" I ask in quiet disbelief.

"Yeah. I could eat. How 'bout you?"

"We stole a car, Joe."

"_I_ stole a car. You forget that. Anything illegal, I take responsibility for."

I throw up my hands. "Well, hell, let's just go rob a bank then."

Joe cranks the wheel, does a U-turn, cuts the engine in the parking lot of a 24-Hours Diner. "How does cherry pie sound, smartass?"

OoO

_Today – 12:02am_

"The guy inside says they stole his truck…but him and his cronies started the fight. Started yelling at the older guy and then bashed your brother with the pool stick. " As Rachel narrates what's happened at the bar, Sodapop's eyes keep getting bigger and bigger.

A blonde girl pipes up, "If you ask me, that jerk deserved it picking on your brother." She shrugs. "He seems like such a sweetie." Seeing the blonde, Two-Bit raises an eyebrow and takes a step forward before Steve sticks an arm out, blocking his advance.

"Was he okay? I mean – did he—"

"He seemed fine, Darry," Rachel says, smiling. "Maybe a little jittery…I think he was drinking but can't be sure."

"And you're sure it was my brother?"

"Completely. He knew about your truck and our date." Rachel chuckles, making me wonder just what Ponyboy's said. She gestures to Sodapop. "Besides, he looks just like this one. Everything except the hair and the eyes."

My chest unclenches but my jaw doesn't. "And the guy he was with?"

"Some tall guy. But I don't know – they kept arguing a lot. After the fight, he dragged him out of the bar. Last I saw of them."

Soda speaks up. "Did you catch a name?"

Rachel purses her lips. "I think it was Joe," the blonde says, moving into the circle. She snaps her gum. "Heard the cops inside say the guy's truck was a gray Chevy."

"You work fast, doll," Two-Bit says, giving her a wink.

"I used to date one of 'em," the girl replies.

"Sounds like a job for me now that you're single again…" Two-Bit drawls smoothly. The blonde giggles and Rachel winces, giving me a look.

"He takes medication," Soda says, shutting Two-Bit and the giggly blonde up.

I squeeze Soda's shoulder. "Gray Chevy. Joe," I repeat to my brother who nods. "Thanks," I tell Rachel and her friend. "That helps a lot."

Rachel smiles. "You're welcome. I hope you find your little brother."

"Yeah," I say as we turn to go. "So do I."

"Let me guess," Steve says as we walk fast back to the truck, leaving the bar behind us. "We're just gonna drive around town until we find that truck?"

Soda loops an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Stevie, that's exactly what we're gonna do."

OoO

_Today – 12:12am_

"We're gonna go to jail. Oh, we're so going to jail. Either that or that guy's gonna catch up with us and ram that pool cue into all the wrong places." Trailing off, I shove the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, my elbows resting on the Plexiglas countertop.

"What? You go to college? You're full of knowledge?" Joe lights a cigarette and sticks it in between my splayed fingers.

"No," I sigh. "That's just the way things work, Joe."

"But you do go to college, don't ya?"

"I do." I remove my hands from my face and start puffing away on the smoke. "English. Wanna be a writer."

"Well hey, you and I work out perfectly then."

I squint, eyeing him with suspicion. "How do you figure?"

"When all this is over I _am_ gonna need an obit…and you'd be the one to wr—"

"Hey, fuck you." Angry, I push back in the booth and point my smoke his way. "I ain't in that business and I'm not even having that conversation tonight." I take a long drag. "I ain't _never_ havin that conversation with you so just forget it."

"Okay, okay. Shit, sorry." Joe examines a menu. I stare out the window, at the gray Chevy in the parking lot, sitting there, mocking me.

The waitress approaches, refills our coffee. "Another piece of pie, honey," Joe tells her. She walks away, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor of the diner. I glare at Joe.

"Hell, it'll be okay, kid."

"Says the guy who wants to kill himself."

"You can't tell me you aren't having fun."

I give him a doubtful look. "Are you?"

"Best I ever had." The waitress comes back with two slices of pie and Joe picks up his fork. "You gonna be in a lot of trouble after this night?"

I gulp my coffee, ignoring its hotness. "Don't know." I eye the payphone. "Although I really should call them. Again."

"Who?" Joe asks with a mouthful of pie. "Your brothers?"

"Yeah."

"Ain't you old enough to be out past curfew, kid?"

I rub the back of my head. "My brothers are kind of…"

"Musical?"

"No."

"Philanthropists?"

"No."

"Hells Angels?—Ooo, Ooo, wait, I know this, in the mob?"

"Protective."

"Huh." Joe's eyes are glossy. He squints at me. "Well, I'm sure there are worse things to be. At least they let you know they love ya a lot."

I bite my lip. Swallow the knot in my throat. "Yeah."

Sitting back in the booth, Joe lets out a breath of air, pressing in on the middle of his stomach.

"You okay?"

"I need some Tums or something."

"I think there's a convenience store across the street." I stamp my smoke out in the ashtray. Joe tosses down some bills. As we leave the diner, I check the clock on the wall and can't believe how young the night still is.

OoO

_Pardon typos!_

_Happy reading and reviewing._

_Thanks to all who've been keeping up with this.  
><em>

_XO,_

_Feisty_


	5. It's Worth a Shot

OoO

_Today - 12:23am_

The convenience store clerk barely glances up as we enter. He's reading a newspaper and smoking. We wind through the aisles of the small store, passing a rack of fishing poles and colorful lures. "Who does that?" Joe asks.

"Does what?" I glance at the lures. "Fish?"

"Yeah, I've never understood it."

"It takes patience," I say. "A lot of it." My dad had taken Darry, Soda and I fishing our entire lives and the only one who could never sit through it was Sodapop. It was church or the drive-in all over again.

Joe fingers a red and white bobber. "What's this doodad?"

A thought dawns. My mouth quirks into a smile. "Joe, you ain't never been fishing before have you?"

"Nah," he says, entering a new aisle. "I'm from Chicago, remember. A city boy."

"City don't have nothin' to do with it."

"True," he says. "But bet you having a dad around helps."

"It does," I admit. Joe opens a bottle of Pepto-Bismol right there and takes a long swig. I raise an eyebrow. "Indigestion?"

"Something like that." Joe touches the middle of his stomach and continues to chug. Finished, he wipes his mouth and sticks a bag of Skittles in his pocket. I don't bother mentioning to pay for that, instead meandering through the stands of food, checking out labels and paperbacks. I pass by a copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ and brush my fingers over the leafy pages.

"Hey," I ask Joe, randomly remembering his earlier comment. "What did you mean by that?"

"By what? Be specific, kid. I ain't in the business of remembering."

"You know…what you said earlier…that I reminded you of a young Holden Caulfield."

"Oh." Joe opens another bottle of Pepto, the cap cracking, and shrugs. "Because you're whiny."

There's a beat, then— "I am not."

"Sure you are."

"Man, I am n—"

"It's not a bad thing. I understand you have your issues."

I scowl. "When someone's trying to steal my brother's truck I reserve the right to—"

Joe drops to his knees. The bottle of Pepto sloshes, pink overflowing on the floor.

"Joe?" I frown. "What're you—"

His hand darts up to drag me down on the ground with him. Before I can say anything else, he puts a finger to his lips and points at the register. A masked man is brandishing a gun, the cashier with his hands on the air.

I reach for the Pepto and take a swig of my own.

OoO

_Today - 12:25am_

Steve stops to refill his tank. Soda offers him a few dollars for gas but Steve waves him off. I start to yawn but cut it short when I catch Two-Bit watching me. He cocks a brow. The smirk plays on his lips.

"Late night for you, Superman?"

Soda pokes his head around the side of the truck. He laughs. "He probably can't remember the last time he stayed up past ten, can ya, Dar?"

Feeling old and picked on, I stick my hands in my pockets, mutter, "Sodapop, I'll remember this the next time you have a late night and don't want to get up for work in the morning."

"You still do what your dad did?" Steve asks, glancing my way.

I nod, look at Soda. "I got a gallon of water with your name written all over it." My breath hangs white in the chill winter air. I think of the warm house, of my brother, and wish to hell I could just find him.

Soda shrugs. "Lucky for me, I ain't gotta work tomorrow."

"Yeah," Two-Bit says, stretching his arms to the sky. He does some side bends and then punches the air. "The whole unemployment thing is working out just peachy for me too."

"Lucky for _us_," Steve says, capping his gas tank, "Tomorrow's Saturday. Pony picked the right day to go missing."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, irked at Steve's choice of words. "He ain't missing."

"Yeah, he's just being his usual irresponsible self."

Soda's smile is a tight one. "I'm gonna make you walk home, Stevie."

"It's my truck," he says with a snort. "Gimme a break, Soda."

"I don't care." I stick a hand out. "Give me the keys, I'm driving." I have to do something, to be proactive. The waiting is driving me crazy.

Reluctantly, Steve gives me the keys but continues his rant. "What I don't get is why we just don't let him come home on his own. You talked to him, Darry – you know he's alive. He's not kidnapped or in the gutter or on the lam. He's just being Ponyboy."

"Because Steve," I snap, in no mood to get lectured on the whereabouts of my brother, "I want to nab him before the cops have a chance to." Soda shoots me a wince. "All I know about tonight is that he pulled a gun on someone, started a bar fight and stole a truck…and I'm not looking to find him in a jail cell when tomorrow rolls around."

"I hate to break it to you guys," Two-Bit says, climbing into the truck and honking the horn, "but it's already Saturday."

OoO

_Today - 12:28am_

I flinch every time the robber shouts something at the cashier. Joe and I are crouched down in the aisle, behind one of the shelves filled with cans of soup and beef jerky and Vienna sausages. I scowl at the rows of food. Of course this would happen. Life seems to be pretty damn hilarious tonight. Or is it tomorrow already? I smear hands down my face and groan.

"Give me your shoes."

"What?"

Joe's pointing at my boots. "Your shoes. They look heavy."

"What're you gonna do? Use 'em as a paperweight?" Seeing the look in Joe's eyes, I shake my head. "_No_!" I whisper. "No way. Don't even think about it."

"We're just gonna sit back and let this place get robbed?"

"You have a gun, use that."

"It's not loaded, remember?"

I roll my eyes. "Why don't you just bluff your way out then? It worked pretty well on me…" My eyes widen as he shrugs in what seems to be agreement. "No, Joe," I hiss. "I was just kidding. Don't you da—"

"Hey, what the hell…"

Joe reaches back and pulls the .45 I didn't know he had been carrying out of his waistband. I make a grab, clutching the edge of his shirt, ripping the arm up to the elbow. The strands of fabric flow loose and Joe stands before I can hold him still or shut him up.

"This might not be the best time but I'm just jonesin' for a SLURPEE," Joe loudly announces, standing in the middle of the aisle. The gun dangles loose, next to his side. I cover my mouth with my hands, mortified.

"What's the flavor-of-the-month, guys?"

The robber hollers. A shot rings out and Joe ducks. It ricochets somewhere across the store. "Well. Should have expected that." I start crawling across the floor. "Where are you going?" Joe asks.

"Away from you," I whisper, matter-of-fact. "You're gonna get me killed."

"What about tonight? It's not over."

"Deal didn't include shootouts at the Corner Store." Joe reaches out to snag my leg. "Knock it off." He slips my left boot off. Flips me onto my back to steal the right one. "Hey!" I slam a fist against the linoleum floor in protest. "C'mon, man…"

"Watch this." Joe pops up and whips one of my boots at the robber. I hear what sounds like an entire shelf of tin cans falling over. I squeeze my eyes shut, opening them in time to see Joe launch the other boot.

This time it sounds like it makes its mark; boot hitting flesh. Squatting slightly I peer through the shelves. The boot Joe has launched causes the robber to get knocked off his feet. He's sitting on his ass, blinking in confusion and before he can move the clerk hops over the counter, rips the phone off the wall – cord and all – and smashes it once against the side of the robber's face, knocking him out cold.

Joe throws his hands up, yelling at the cashier, "Now how're you gonna call the cops, huh buddy?"

Exhaling, I stand and run a hand through my hair. The robbery's over as soon as it had started. I'm impressed. "Glory, Joe..."

Throwing me a smug smile, Joe twirls the gun around his finger like a cowboy in a western. "Apparently this was not needed in the battle of wills. So you see Ponyboy, the next time you refuse someone shoes, just remember—"

The gun goes off, leaving me with a searing pain across my left bicep. I sink to the ground.

"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch," Joe says.

OoO

_Today - 12:31am_

Steve has stopped his bitching, staying contritely quiet but now it looks to be Two-Bit's turn.

"You know," he says, rubbing his stomach. "I'm mighty hungry." No one says anything and he looks at Soda. "I mean, have you eaten since dinner? Normally I'd be asleep by now and wouldn't have the slightest idea that my stomach is craving nutritional goodness, but now that I'm up…well I'd kinda like a bite to eat." He holds both hands out to the side in a kind of _who's-with-me?_ gesture. "I mean, is anyone else a starvin' Marvin?"

I grit my teeth and keep driving.

"I could eat," Soda says. I give him a frown and he hangs his head sheepishly. "C'mon, Dar…I _am_ kinda hungry."

"Yeah, we all didn't get to eat a four-course meal with their date tonight. They had dessert too," Two-Bit tells Sodapop. "I think it was something choco—"

"_Okay_, okay," I say between clenched teeth. "We can stop."

"Diner, three o'clock, Dar," Steve points out.

I swing into the parking lot and cut the engine, ready and willing to get out of the cramped confines of Steve's pickup truck.

OoO

_Today - 12:35am_

"It just grazed you," Joe is saying, eyes glued to my arm.

"Really?" I snap, "Because I was under the impression that a gunshot was a gunshot. I didn't know there were different criteria." I suck in a deep breath and tilt my head back. Keep my right hand against my left bicep. The blood flows warm and the ceiling sways.

"Don't pass out on me, Ponyboy," Joe gives me a shake.

"I ain't planning too." I give him a glare then glance down at my arm. "Can we, uh, maybe do something about this?"

"Yeah. I'll get it fixed…" Joe glances around, stands and runs off into another aisle. There's a loud crash and then five cans of soda start rolling my way underneath the stands. Then he's back, holding a roll of Duct Tape and a shammy. "Here."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"I never kid." Cushioning the shammy against my bicep, Joe pulls a long strip off the roll of duct tape. "Now believe me Ponyboy, this hurts me worse than it hurts you."

"Somehow I doubt that," I say dryly as he dips his head to bite the piece of tape in half, severing it from the roll. I squeeze my eyes shut as he starts wrapping, loose, yet tight. Round and round my arm the duct tape goes.

"We'll clean it later," Joe says, "After we get outta here." I nod, eyes still shut. I feel woozy but steady. There's chatter from the front of the store; the cashier has the phone working and he's on with the cops.

I open my eyes. Joe's surveying his work. He nods and then slaps my cheek lightly. "You okay? You good? Then, let's get the hell gone."

We leave through the back door. I grab a bottle of aspirin on the way out.

OoO

_Today - 12:40am_

We claim a booth at the back of the diner. Two-Bit greedily flips through the menu, while Sodapop and Steve chain-smoke. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounds but nobody pays it any attention.

"Chicken fried steak," Two-Bit announces, eyes scanning his options. "No, no, cheeseburger with fries…no—"

"You got 15 minutes, Two-Bit," I say as the waitress approaches. "Get something and eat it quick." I order black coffee. The waitress patiently takes Two-Bit's order and when she turns to Sodapop she does a double-take.

"What're you doin' back here, doll?" She props an arm on her hip. "Come back for more pie?"

Soda frowns. "Back here?"

"Yeah, you were here…oh, maybe 15 minutes ago with—"

I start at the waitress's words. "That wasn't him," I say, causing her to look further confused. If anyone had told me years ago that Ponyboy and Soda could be doubles of each other I wouldn't have believed it. Tonight's proving differently.

"Where'd he go? The kid that was here?"

"They left in a hurry…kid went across the street to the convenience store…"

Soda's sliding out of the booth before I can. Two-Bit moans his protest at an empty stomach before following the three of us out. Steve slides to a stop in the middle of the crosswalk. "Oh, shit."

Across the street, the parking lot's lit up with the sirens of cop cars and an ambulance. "Not again," Soda mutters, breaking into a run.

OoO

_Today - 12:51am_

"Take a sip of this." Joe hands me the bottle of Jack and I take a deep gulp. He lets me keep the bottle.

He peers at me. "Better?"

"Yeah," I suck in a breath, watch the road. Snow has started to fall. "I'm cool."

"You know," Joe says, "you take a bullet with grace."

"Thanks," I mutter. Sitting up, straining against the seatbelt, I screw the cap off the aspirin bottle, pull out the cotton balls and then swallow five pills. I wash them down with the whiskey. Breathe through the sting of the alcohol. "I'll remember that the next time I play cowboys and Indians."

Joe barks out a laugh. Then he sighs. "Tell me your address, Pony and I'll take you home. It's been a long night."

I blink. I take another stiff drink.

OoO

_Today - 12:59am_

We hang back from the scene but we can hear the clerk talking to the cops. Something about a stick-up and then a guy who – in the clerks' own words – singlehandedly took out the robber. "He threw the boot at him," he says. The cop nods and hands the clerk something wrapped in plastic, asking him to take a look. After a few minutes, the cop gets called away, leaving the clerk holding the bags.

Soda squints. "Stay here," he says and runs off before I can ask him where he's going.

"Don't lose _him_ either," Steve grumbles, stony-faced. He zips his jacket up. Lights a smoke. "What's with all your brothers running off?"

"Don't ask me," I say, feeling tired.

"It's like trying to find a wild goose chase in a haystack," Two-Bit says. He's wearing that ridiculous hat that makes him look like some kind of mountain man.

Steve raises a dark brow. Looks at me. "You wanna explain it to him?"

I shake my head and watch Soda sidle up to the clerk. He opens his hands, gestures and starts talking fast, his voice too low for me to hear. The clerk keeps nodding, breaks into a smile and then laughs. I have to give it to Soda – he can make anyone laugh.

Soda points to the items the clerk's holding. The clerk opens the plastic bag and Soda eyes its contents. He mouths something and then glances pointedly at the cop whose talking about five feet away to another officer.

Without hesitation the clerk gives the bag to Soda and then he's running back to us. "Ponyboy's boots," he says, smiling like he just won the lottery.

I groan.

Steve ashes his smoke. "Buddy, did you just steal evidence?"

OoO

_Today - 1:00am_

"Well."

"Well…"

"There you go, Ponyboy. Home sweet home." Joe nods towards my house, which lies just outside the comfort of the warm truck. He's parked on the curb, letting the truck idle.

The liquor sloshes in my stomach. The world seems blurrier than it did a few hours ago. I hand Joe the bottle of Jack. "Here."

"Holy Christ—you guzzled this." Joe shakes the bottle. "Feelin' fine now, ain't ya?" I nod and Joe laughs. "Go on, go home."

I put my hand on the door handle, suddenly shy. "But what about you?"

"What about me?" Joe squints in the dark, the streetlamp casting a yellow glow in the cab of the truck. "I had a blast tonight, Ponyboy. Now don't you worry about it."

"But—but don't you—it's still early—"

"You already got shot…" Joe gives me his token smirk, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "I say that's grounds for calling it a night."

"It's just a graze." I smile crookedly and pop the door open.

"Get outta here," Joe says.

Climbing out, I give him a last wave, and stumble up to the house. And I'm nearly there. I have my hand on the knob, about to turn it, when I remember the entire reason why I've been tagging along with Joe.

_Go on, Pony_, the sober part of brain urges. _Go back._

"Oh. _Oh!_"

The truck pulls away from the curb, the engine revving. I dart down the steps, falling once, but catching myself. "Wait! Joe!" The blink of the taillights shines red as the truck halts in the middle of our street. I run into the road, breath tight. Then the truck reverses, fishtailing and skidding. I hop back onto the sidewalk. It spins around and slams into our mailbox post. The metal top of the mailbox goes flying.

"I'll pay for that," Joe says, rolling down his window.

I scoop up the mailbox, an idea brewing. "Stay here. Don't go anywhere."

Inside the house, I dump the mailbox on the kitchen table, a few letters skittering out. I go to the hall closet, open it, and grab what's been there for the last 10 years, grab a few things from my bedroom. Then I scribble a note to Darry on the back of the newspaper in black marker. Grabbing up my cache I've collected, I rush out of the house, accidentally knocking over the coat rack in my drunken haste.

Joe's still waiting on the curb. His black eyes glint as I climb inside. I hold up the tackle box I grabbed from the closet. "Thought of something you haven't done yet."

OoO

_Pardon typos._

_As always, thanks for the read and reviews. You all are so amazing._

_Probably one chapter left, folks. I told you this was a short, fun one._

_XO,_

_FeistyFeist_


	6. Accidental Admissions

_Long chapter below! Finishing up before the new year. Enjoy!_

OoO

_Today - 1:11am_

"Darry?" Soda asks as I turn down a familiar street. He gives me a look. "Home?"

"Home."

Steve groans and stretches out best he can in the seat. "'Bout time." He shuts his eyes, tugging his DX cap down tight.

Brow furrowed, Two-Bit's asks, "You sure, Dar? Because I really don't mind—"

"He's okay, Two-Bit. Besides, we're not gonna find him tonight. With Ponyboy, the thing to do is just let him find us."

OoO

_Today - 1:16am_

"So, where're we goin?"

"Head outta town, then right before the highway take the first le—"

"Pony?"

"Oh…" I rest a hand against the window. "Oh boy…"

"What?"

"I think…"

"What is it?"

"I think…the car is spinning…"

A laugh from Joe. "There's too much booze in your bloodstream."

I swallow thickly as my stomach churns. We drive in silence a few more minutes and I try to choke it back. But then Joe rounds a curve and my fingers fly to the lock as my stomach jumps again. I tug it up. "Stop the car, Joe."

"Pony—"

"Stop the car, I'm gonna be sick."

Then I'm throwing open the door, while the car's still moving. Punching the breaks, Joe swerves to the side of the road, over on the shoulder. I barely make it out in time before I'm puking my guts out in the ditch. My mouth tastes like something rotten has crawled in and died.

I gag a few more times and then straighten up. Joe's waiting for me in the truck, the lights bright. I shield my eyes and give him a thumbs-up. I walk two steps, pause, then my stomach gives a familiar lurch and I'm back in the ditch, cursing Joe and Jack Daniels.

OoO

_Today - 1:20am_

"What an asshole," Soda snaps.

"What?" I ask, coming around the back end of the truck. He juts a finger at our busted mailbox. The top half that carries the letters is gone. "Perfect."

We walk up to the house and go inside.

OoO

_Today - 1:22am_

Steve trips over something and curses in the dark. Soda scrambles, flicking on a light switch. We all squint in the harsh light. The coat rack lies right at the entrance of the house; Steve's sprawled out on the ground. "I think Pony was here," he says.

Soda sticks a hand down to help Steve up. I nod, heading towards Two-Bit, who's already in the kitchen. "I think so too."

"Hey, uh, Darry…"

Two-Bit has his hands propped on his waist. He's staring at the top of our mailbox, letters spilled over the table and onto the floor. I smear a hand down my face. "God. What'd he do now?"

"He left a note…"

I snatch the newspaper from Two-Bit. On the back, scrawled across a car advertisement is Pony's familiar writing: I AM FINE. BE HOME LATER. DON'T WORRY.

"A real wordsmith, he is," Two-Bit says.

I hand the note to Soda and he reads it. He looks at me. "He took the fishing poles."

"What?" I hold up my hands. "Never mind. I don't even want to know."

"Where you goin', Dar?" Soda asks as I begin to walk toward the hallway.

"To bed. That's where you should go too, Soda."

"But—"

"He's fine. He'll come back when he's done doing whatever idiotic idea he's come up with. And I'll deal with him then." I take off my watch. "But right now, I'm tired. It's been a long day…"

Two-Bit looks worried, standing still in the kitchen. "You go home," I tell him. "Don't stay up looking for him, because I know that's what you'll do, Two-Bit."

"Might just crash here then," Two-Bit says with a casual shrug. "That way I can give Pony an appropriate welcome-back."

"I tell you what," Steve says, heading out. "Pony had better been up to something fan-fucking-tastic tonight. If not, _I'm_ gonna kick his ass."

I edge into my bedroom, the chatter behind me continuing. Sleep deprived and surly, and with the insane night I've had, I know it will be a long time before I even think of having kids of my own.

"Yeah." Two-Bit's voice floats down the hallway as I hit the sack. "I expect tattoos. Blondes. Animal prints."

OoO

_Today - 1:45am_

"Down there," I instruct.

Joe takes the truck off-road, down a steep incline and across a frozen field. It's pitch black outside and I can't remember the last time I've stayed up this late. The cup of coffee I'm holding – Joe having made a pit stop before heading out of town – warms my hands. The nasty taste of vomit lingers in my mouth but my world has stopped spinning and I'm thankful.

"Stop here," I say, seeing the glossy surface of the lake approaching. Joe keeps driving. "Joe…stop…here!" I panic, thinking he doesn't see the body of water. _Oh god_, _he's taking me with him. We're going to plow into the ice and sink and—_

Then, Joe lets loose a yell and says, "Hold on, Ponyboy!" Wincing, I cover my eyes as Joe suddenly cranks the wheel, swinging the truck into a full-on spin. The truck halts at the very edge, the bed facing the lake.

Coffee covers the legs of my jeans. Joe's laughing. "I always wanted to do that," he says.

I throw the now-empty Styrofoam cup at Joe and then tumble out of the truck. I hit the grass and breathe in cool air. I see my socked feet and wonder why in the hell I didn't pick shoes up back at the house.

OoO

_Today - 2:40am_

"So this is what it's all about huh? Fishing."

"I guess so." Warily, I watch Joe bait a hook and then cast. It hits the water and begins to sink. It's not cold enough for the lake to have frozen over but a faint dusting of ice is making it difficult to hook anything. Our breath comes in big, white puffs. While we have jackets, we're still shivering, but the lateness and the dark make it hard to give a damn anymore.

"Ain't they supposed to bite?"

I stifle a yawn. "I'm sure that it being three in the morning probably has something to do with it."

"It's pretty peaceful," Joe says. "A night like this seems made for it." He pours me some coffee from the thermos. I take it and drink, wrinkling my nose at its bitter taste.

"Yeah, it sure does." I smile, thinking of my dad who sure loved to fish. I glance at Joe's profile; he's in shadows, eyes bright. "Say uh, Joe…after tonight…you ain't still thinkin' of…you know…"

"How're your feet?"

"Cold."

"How about the arm?"

"Cold too. But you still didn't answer my question." I yawn again, feeling fuzzy.

"I'll answer it in the morning."

"So you'll be alive in the morning, I take it." He doesn't answer me and I roll my eyes. "Joe…" I take another sip of coffee. I frown. "What's in this?" Joe reels in his line. "What's in this coffee?"

"Magic."

I yawn, my vision blurring. I drop the fishing pole. "Did you – did you just drug me?"

"Something for your arm," Joe says. "Make you feel warm and fuzzy inside."

I recline back in the truck, the stars twinkle above me."You can't just go around drugging people, Joe. You shouldn't be shooting people, either."

"Accidents happen, Ponyboy."

"I think tonight's a bust…"

"It's not tonight, anymore."

"Well, it should be…I can't believe you drugged me…"

Joe chuckles. My eyes shut. I hear the crank of his reel. "Hey look," he says, before I drift off. "I think I caught a big ol' son-of-a-bitch…"

OoO

_Today – 6:11am_

The smell of freshly brewed coffee floats into my bedroom. For a minute, I forget the events of last night but then I open my eyes. I slide out of bed and find Sodapop in the kitchen, staring into a cup of black coffee.

"Pony?"

Soda shakes his head. "Ain't back yet."

I sit across from him at the table. "Well…it ain't like he's 14…"

Soda raises a brow, smirking. "C'mon, Dar. Just admit it, man. You just wanna ground him for disappearing." He takes a sip of the coffee and grimaces. "Hell, I know I do – just for making me resort to this." Soda stands and dumps the coffee down the sink.

"Shit…" I join Soda at the counter and grab a mug. "He's _your_ brother."

Soda smirks. "Prove it."

OoO

_Today - 6:55am_

"Best we could do last night."

"Last night?"

I can see my reflection in the dark lenses of his sunglasses. My eyes wider than wide. He waits, the corners of his mouth fighting a smirk. And when I see that smile – _that smirk_ – I remember.

"Oh, no."

He hands me a cigarette. "Oh, yeah."

I put a hand to my head. "You drugged me."

Joe lights my smoke. "Don't look so wounded, Ponyboy. You feel better don't ya? Got some sleep?"

I wrap my arms around myself, shivering through the cold. The duct tape's still tight on my arm. "Well, yeah, but—"

"No buts about it then. I'll just take a thank-you-very-much, Joe."

I scoff. "Right. Right behind, thanks-for- shooting- me- in -the -arm, Joe."

"So we're back to that?"

"Bet your ass we're back to that." Scooting forward, I unhinge the tailgate and climb out of the tail bed. The cigarette, stuck between my lips, huffs and puffs. The damp ground soaks my socks. "Look, we really need to talk about last night. I know we had a deal but I can't just walk away and let you go and—"

"I ain't planning to off myself, Ponyboy. At least not anymore." Suspicious, I cock my head. "Why the sudden change of heart?" Joe says, asking my question. "Well, when I was fishing last night, reeling in a 10 pound trout—"

"Bullshit…"

"No way. That trout was big as a cat."

"Where is it then?"

"Released it. I'm not in the business of killin' fish…"

"Bullshit."

"You gonna keep calling bullshit or let me talk?" Joe shakes his head. "I swear…I'm beginning to see what your brothers get so exasperated about."

I throw my arms up. "How do you—? You haven't even met my brothers…Jesus…"

"Can I continue?"

"Go for it," I tell him, stalking toward the cab, where it's warm. Joe follows and climbs into the passenger seat. He presses the keys into my palm. I start the truck and crank the heat.

"As I was saying…I had an epiphany. I have never fished before – and if I have never fished before, what else haven't I done? Ending it would have been the easy way out, but like last night reminded me, nothing has ever been easy. Well, maybe Katie Collins in tenth grade, but I digress…"

Joe gives a solemn nod. "Plus, I'm alive – others aren't so lucky out there…what with the war and all…"

I swallow thickly, my thoughts tuning Joe out and drifting to Johnny and Dally. Johnny and his 17-years-only lived. Dal and his death wish. I take a long drag off the cigarette.

"—no regrets, am I right?"

"What?" I shake out of my daze.

Joe's smiling. "Zoning out on me? You okay?"

"No, I—you're right," I tell him. "I'm glad you worked it out."

"With your help." Joe says. "Without you, I'd be in the blue heaven." He claps my shoulder. Squeezes. "What do you say about breakfast? My treat. Then I'll take you home and return this ride."

"Sounds like a plan."

Joe drums his fingers against the dash. He looks happier, less desperate than when I had first met him. "Let me go grab your gear," he says. "Wouldn't want to forget that." He hops out, heads to the bank of the lake, to stand right in front of the truck.

I watch him dip, gathering the tackle box. I stretch an arm around the back of the headrest, put the car in reverse and—

The truck zips forward instead. Hits something. "Oh holy hit," I swear, stomping on the brakes. I can't see Joe anymore. Biting my lip, I very slowly slide out of the truck, fearing the worst. "Joe…?"

Joe's on the ground, curled up in a fetal position. "Christ," I say, rushing forward, dropping my smoke. "I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to hit you, I didn't see—"

"You didn't hit me, Pony," Joe musters, looking pained. He rolls onto his back. My hands hover, not knowing what to do. "My goddamn stomach….Can you just get me to a hospital?"

I loop my hands underneath his armpits and tug him up.

OoO

_Today - 7:47am_

The doctor won't let me in – family only. Since they're not telling me anything I wander the fifth floor, ignoring the odd stares and curious glances. I know I look like trash; hell, I feel like it.

Finally, I find a payphone.

OoO

_Today - 7:49am_

I'm in the middle of arguing with Two-Bit – he's made up some posters that read: MISSING HORSE. ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF PONYBOY CURTIS. $200 REWARD. The poster's complete with Ponyboy's high school graduation photo.

Where Two-Bit found time to do this, I'll never know.

"You're not putting those up," I shout at him as I cross the room to answer the phone. "He's not missing."

"It's just a farce, Dar!" Two-Bit says. A tired-looking Sodapop takes the posters from Two-Bit and heads to the trash can.

I pick up the phone. "Hello?"

OoO

_Today - 7:52am_

"Darry?"

"Glory, Ponyboy." Darry's voice is tired but alert. His typical response when he's at his wits end. "Where in the hell are you?"

"I'm at the hospital." The moment the phrase is out of my mouth I know it's a poor choice. I hurry on before Darry can jump to any conclusions. "I mean, I'm not _in_ the hospital…it's not for me. A friend is – this guy – well he—"

"You're okay?" This time, the voice that comes out is tight.

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Dar. Can you—can you just come get me?" A nurse rounds the corner, looks me up and down. Closing my eyes, I lean forward and rest my forehead against the wall. "Please?"

"I'll leave right now," Darry says. Keys jingle. He shouts something at Sodapop and then is back. "You know, Ponyboy, you better have some damn good explanations for me when I get there because right now I'm not feeling very understanding at the moment."

Straightening up, I run a hand through my hair. "Would you believe I lost track of time?"

"Nice try." He sighs. "Look, sit tight. We'll be right there."

"Oh, hey, Darry," I say fast, before he can hang up.

"What, Ponyboy?"

"Can you bring me some shoes?"

OoO

_Today - 8:13am_

I see him the second we step off the elevator. On the opposite side of the hallway, Pony's stretched out on the row of plastic waiting room chairs. He's yawning. The whole scenario reminds me too much of the hospital after Windrixville.

Although, the need to throttle my MIA brother is still great.

Two-Bit lets out a whoop and starts running towards him. Soda sucks in a breath as he sideswipes a nurse, causing her to drop her charts. She gives him a glare and then fixes it on us.

"Idiot," Soda mutters but then takes off too, loping down the hall. Pony waves and then Soda catches him up in a hug. He draws back abruptly, wrinkling his nose. "You smell awful, kiddo," he says as I approach.

My brother looks awful too. He has that jittery look of someone who's stayed up all night and can't fall asleep. His nose and the tips of his ears are bright red from the cold and his feet are wet and grimy. The socks brown. The arm of his jacket is ripped, something grayish wrapped around his bicep.

"Here," I say, giving Pony the sneakers I brought along. He says thanks, sitting back down to put on the shoes. "You want to start explaining things?" I ask. "Like why my truck was left at the junkyard, for starters."

Soda crosses his arms, stern-faced for once in his life. "Yeah. I'd like to know the story too."

Shamefaced, Pony opens his mouth and starts talking.

OoO

_Today - 8:42am_

I give my brothers the half-truth version of the night, leaving out the bar fight, the stolen truck and the gun. Everything else I spill. Steve arrives halfway through my story. He leans back against the wall, snorting at various parts. Finally, I stop and say, "You want to shut up?"

"I don't believe any of it."

I scowl. "Yeah, and I'm here at the hospital for kicks." He just shrugs.

"Well, I, for one," Two-Bit begins, "wonders who wouldn't want to hang out here? With the sweet, sweet smell of bleach and ammonia in the air, it's enough to get me to come back time and time again."

Darry's angry face morphs into a frown and then surprise when I tell them about Joe's death wish. He rubs his hands on the knees of his jeans. "You can't…"

"What?"

"Well, you can't help everyone, kiddo." Darry looks at me closely. "It's a nice thought but…"

"Not everyone. But what about the ones who ask?"I give him a quick grin before resuming my story.

When I finish, skipping the part about Joe drugging me, instead ending with a night of fishing, Darry's squinting at me, his mouth in a tight line. "Aren't you forgetting a few things, Pone?"

"Like what?"

"A stolen truck, maybe?"

I give a start. "How'd you know about that?"

"I ran into Rachel at the saloon."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_." Darry points at me. "What about pulling a gun on Hal Boyle?" Soda laughs and then cuts it short, trying to look solemn as Darry gives him a frown. "What happened with that?" Darry asks.

"That's another long story." Avoiding Darry's glare, I rub my face in my hands. My arm gives a throb. "Can I tell you later? I'm just really tired right now." I glance at Darry, lower my voice. "I'm really, _really_ sorry about all this, Darry."

"You shoulda called us," he says.

"I'm sorry…I kept getting…distracted…"

"It still ain't okay, Pone," Soda says. "We were running around half-crazed lookin for you." Steve pulls out a blade and starts picking at his nails.

"I know." I bite my lip. "I didn't mean to make you worry. I'm sorry…" I trail off as the doctor approaches, carrying a chart.

Darry stands, whispers. "We ain't done here."

"Yeah, don't I know it," I hiss back. Darry's probably going to make me pay for this for the next five years.

Settling himself in front of us, the doctor clears his throat. He looks us all over, raising an eyebrow at me, and then deciding Darry's the leader, says, "I'm Doctor Ruben. Are you family of Joseph Moser?"

"Joseph?"Darry looks around and then steps back. "No, no, he's – this – here—" Darry shoves me forward. "Talk to him."

"Is he okay?" I ask the doctor. "He's not dead, is he?" My voice comes out small.

"Dead? No, no, not dead." The doctor clears his throat again. "It seems…it looks worse than it is."

"What does that mean?"

"We misdiagnosed on his last visit."

"You _what_?"

"He has a severe peptic ulcer."

I blink. "Not cancer."

"No, son. Not cancer."

"What?" My head feels like it's going to explode. Any relief I should feel is replaced by exasperation at the doctor's mistake.

"Yes, um, his ulcer is severe but treatable…"

"Treatable? Are you kidding me? He was going to…" I raise my arm, wanting to hit something and Soda leaps forward. He grabs me, holding me still. I let out a whimper as he squeezes the arm that's been shot.

"Pone?" Soda questions.

The doctor stops speaking and stares at me. At my arm. He takes his glasses off. "What happened to your arm, son?"

"Nothing," I say, knowing my face is white. "It's nothing."

"You don't look so good, Pone," Two-Bit says, raising a rusty brow. Dr. Ruben peers closer. Darry's frowning, trying to get a good look as well. With all eyes on me, I blush.

"Son," Ruben says, putting the pieces together, "Have you been shot?"

"Well…" There's no getting out of this, so I decide to come clean. "S_hot_ really isn't the right definition to use…"

"Ponyboy!" Soda yelps.

"You should let me check that out, Ponyboy. It could be infected and should probably be treated…" Ruben glances at Darry. "Mr. Curtis…"

I turn to Sodapop. "Soda, I'm fine. The gun went off and—"

Darry looks pissed. "_What_?"

"I just got grazed, it's nothing ser—"

Stone-faced, Darry turns to the doctor. "Admit him."

"What?" the doctor and I say simultaneously. Dr. Ruben clicks his pen. "Darry, no…" I try to worm away from my brothers, eyeing the elevator.

Pointing at me, Darry bellows, "Admit him, tie him up, give him drugs – do anything you have to do to make him sit still for just a goddamn minute."

"Wait a minute," Steve says, eyeing my arm. "Is that a shammy?"

OoO

_Today - 10:13am_

"I don't believe you," I say, shaking my head. I pour Pony a cup of water. "I really don't believe you. Duct tape? Are you familiar with the concept of infection?" Soda chuckles quietly from his spot in the corner.

Pony scowls but takes the water. He shifts in his bed, scratches the clean bandage wrapped around his arm. The wound is now sanitized and stitched up nice and tight. Pony's eyes are glossy from the painkillers the nurses have given him. He can leave later this afternoon but right now I want to keep him in that bed.

"We were planning to clean it up later," he mutters.

"When? When gangrene set in?"

"You gotta give it to him, Dar," Soda says. "A little gunshot didn't slow him down. He even managed to go fishing." Soda and Pony share a smug smile.

I roll my eyes at their easy camaraderie. "I don't believe either of you."

OoO

_Today - 11:49am_

"So you landed yourself in here too?"

I look up from the magazine Soda's brought me. Wrinkle my nose. "Yeah, on accident."

"There's no such thing as an accident."

"Why," I say, raising my eyes to the ceiling, "am I not surprised you believe that." Joe settles himself in the chair next to me. "I hear congratulations are in order," I tell him. "You know, with you not dying anymore."

Joe looks embarrassed. "Yeah. I owe you, Ponyboy." I wave a hand. "No, I really do," Joe says. I owe you my life and another bottle of Jack Daniels."

My stomach recoils. "I'll pass."

"I mean, I'm just glad you hit me with the truck. If you hadn't, I probably would have left this morning still planning to off myself."

"I thought you said I _didn't_ hit you with the truck."

"I lied."

"I thought you had an epiphany."

"Lied about that too."

"Damn you, Joe." I shake my head. "You're going to give _me_ an ulcer."

He rattles the bottle of pills he has in his hand. "Got a cure for that." Easy silence falls over the room. I tug at the blanket across my lap.

"So what will you do now?" I ask, anxious. I feel like I've known Joe my entire life, instead of just spending one night with him. It's like saying goodbye to an old friend, which I don't really want to do.

"Go back to work," Joe says. "Bum around town. Maybe look you up from time to time since I know where you live."

I smile.

"Pony," Joe whispers conspiratorially. "Where'd you leave the truck?"

"Parked it down the block at the bowling alley."

"Good." Joe nods with approval. "Let the cops find it."

The door opens and we both turn. Joe shifts in his chair as Darry appears in the room. "You must be the brother." Joe squints. "The oldest one. The meaner one." Joe nods at me. "Am I right?"

Darry crosses the room fast. "And you must be the sonofabitch who kidnapped my brother."

Joe nudges my arm. "He's a real firecracker, ain't he?"

I face palm. "Joe this is Darry, Darry, Joe," I say. "Play nice." Darry's eyes burn but regretfully he sticks a hand out. Joe rises from the chair and they shake.

"You're lucky you're in the hospital," Darry says, staring at Joe, who's in his hospital gown and a pair of jeans. "If you weren't I'd knock your block off for getting my brother caught up in this mess."

Wounded, Joe turns to me. "You told him I shot you?" Joe hisses before I can tell him to shut up.

"_You_ shot him?" Darry says, his fists clenching up.

"I'm gonna go," Joe says. "I'm assuming you still want to have words with your little brother here and you really should based on last night…"

Darry's clenching his jaw. "You better believe it," he says.

"Thanks a lot," I holler at Joe as he's leaving.

The door swings shut and Darry looks down at me. "You're grounded."

"But—but I'm 18."

"I don't give a shit. You're still grounded." Scowling, I cross my arms. Darry shakes his head, frustrated. "Ponyboy, that guy is tro—"

The door pops back open. Joe sticks his head in the room. He grins and finger-guns me. "Ponyboy?"

"What?" I nearly shout.

"Same time next week?"

OoO

_Yay! It's over. Thanks for reading and reviewing so, so much. I hope you enjoyed this fun, little story and that it was as crazy and funny as I hoped it to be._

_Pardon any typos. _

_Everyone have a safe and happy new year. _

_XO,  
>Feisty<em>


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